


The Names Are Coal For My Furnace (And It Burns, Burns)

by CBlue



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst?, Character Study, Experimental writing, I feel like I have the timeline messed up but shush it's okay, I love Percy so much, My Poor Angst Son, Self-Reflection, Short Story, probably, the list, very dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 05:13:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18025355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBlue/pseuds/CBlue
Summary: Slowly, but surely, Percival de Rolo will cross out all the names on his List. Until then, it is his only source of comfort. The knowledge that those who have caused so much suffering will be repaid it tenfold.





	The Names Are Coal For My Furnace (And It Burns, Burns)

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't actually finished Season One of Critical Role and I'm a little fuzzy on the details and Timeline. Percy is my favorite character and I love his intricacies and his growth. I love his redemption just as much as I loved how truly dark the character was. This is an experimental writing style, a short story, to keep me writing. I hope you enjoy it. ^^

Hollow footsteps echoed heavily through the empty hall as Percival de Rolo hid himself away from the gleams in their dead stares. Twisted, decaying trickery depicted their smiles and false laughter and it piled into Percy's stomach like coals into a furnace. The flame scorched his chest, marking him further. Further these demons blackened his soul. He inhaled sharply to settle the dust that filled his lungs.

Unconsciously, Percival clutched at the spare parchment in his pocket. Well, it wasn't a spare parchment. Percy opened his eyes as he removed the now crumpled paper from his pocket. It was folded in several places and the writing worn and fading on the yellowed page. Sighing deeply, Percy rubbed his forefinger and thumb to his forehead as his eyes graced over the loops to every letter.

Every name set another notch in his heart. He worried not for it bleeding out. He knew it was empty; had been empty for longer than he had had the List. Those names haunted him, plagued him, bore into his skin more than any mark or demon that he carried. Ripley...The Butcher.... Percy breathed in deeply as he recounted their names and their crimes. They each had a reason for being on the List.

And, _oh_ , how the Briarwoods deserved to be on the List. Their fabricated story was being woven beneath his feet as he breathed. As he breathed and they lived in his home, his family lay dead. Part of him, a dark and selfish part of him, was almost happy that his family was long since gone. If they could see him now, he was certain he could not bare their gazes nor meet there eyes. But as long as they rested, waiting for their vengeance, by any gods listening Percy would avenge them.

Well, perhaps not avenge. Avenging sounded noble, kind-hearted. This was pure revenge. Whatever was the reverse, the mirror of Avenging Angels that was what Percy was. A Demon of Retribution. He meticulously folded his List, replacing it into his pocket as if it had never left it. As if it weren't his solace and anchor.

There was his List, after all. The company he had kept downstairs sat long forgotten in the back of his mind as he bent his arms behind his back. Straightening himself with the propriety of a de Rolo, the proper Master of Whitestone, Percy turned swiftly on his heel. He inhaled the smoke again, taking it into his lungs and feeding the flame that heated his core. It raged beneath his skin, quite and not so bright yet, but ever present. One day those flames would flicker out and lick at the Briarwoods. It would burn them just as their hatred had burned Percy. Burnt him until he was nothing left but smoke and fire.

They would rue the day they turned him into the monster that would be their downfall. And though they didn't quite seem to know it yet, he would be their downfall. He had his List after all, and they were more names on that List. The demon at his side hugged his back as he trotted back toward his company. Mirroring the Brairwoods attitude, becoming fully what their foolish plot had molded him into, Percival smiled.

_Oh_ , the smile he would give when he crossed their names would be his truest, most twisted smile.

 

 

"Percy?" The voice called gently from beside him. Vex'halia's gracious features raised a curious eyebrow at him. "Are you alright?"

Percival nodded once before flashing the smile his face had come most accustomed too. The one that reminded him of half-truths and the fire that licked and burned at his rib cage. "Yes, of course." He answered after a moment. "You needn't worry."

Her lips thinned into a thin line as she looked over him carefully. "Alright. I believe you." She eventually relented. "Eat up. We have much to do in the morning, darling."

Percy had always welcomed the scorch of the dark flames that had burnt him into a husk, but something unfamiliar and just as welcomed ticked at his skin. Keeping too his smoke and mirrors, Percival nodded and swallowed harshly. "Yes, of course. Thank you."

Satisfied, Vex'halia turned from Percy to face Keyleth and continue their earlier conversation. Before he could lose himself to the faint flame of whatever Vex'halia's inquire had sparked in him, his fingers graced the torn edges of the List and he steadied himself. He could always rely on his List to ground him to his reality. It doused the odd flame to make room for the dark pyre that he kept built in his heart. His dried valves acted as its kindling, and it kept to a low warmth to fight away the cold emptiness that threatened him.


End file.
